


Eisegesis

by echoist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M, this never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elaboration on a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWRRhFZboyk">CW preview</a> for Supernatural 5.21, <i>Two Minutes To Midnight</i>.  Crowley encourages Bobby to talk with Sam and Dean.  Somewhat obviously, the fic contains spoilers for 5.21, which at the time of this posting has yet to air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eisegesis

 

     “Go ahead,” Crowley encouraged, setting down a full glass of what passed for Scotch in the cultural wasteland of Sioux Falls.  “Tell them.  There’s no shame in it.”  One corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the remark, as if to suggest he meant precisely the opposite. 

     Bobby winced as Sam turned back around, features painfully scrunched into the expression his brother had aptly dubbed _the bitchface_.  “Bobby,” he began, fists clenching beneath their friend’s line of sight.  “Tell us _what_?”

     His breath hitched, watching the demon watch him from across the room.  _No shame in it, my ass_,  Bobby thought, letting the brow of his cap slip just that much lower.  It would be easier if they couldn’t see his eyes when he said it.  “World’s gonna end,” he muttered, the slanting mid-day sun casting doubt on reasoning that had seemed so solid in the dark.  “Seems stupid to get all precious over one little…” Bobby paused, eyes flicking down and away.  A stain on the wallpaper; dust collecting on the rug in places too narrow for a set of wheels to pass.  Don’t look at Dean, don’t see his disappointment – and for God’s sake, don’t look at _him_.  “Soul.”

    The angel in the corner sighed mournfully.  The demon in the kitchen adjusted his tie and looked smug.




     “You sold your soul?”  Dean barked in disbelief. 

     “Oh, more like pawned it,” Crowley explained mildly, drawing back their attention and with it, the force of their considerable ire.  “I fully intend to give it back.”

     “Well then, give it back!” Dean demanded.  The demon raised an eyebrow.  “I will,” Crowley replied, wondering if he should have got out the dictionary for the boy before throwing around fancy words like _pawn_.    “Now!” Dean hurled back, clearly of the opinion that there was good cause for shouting. 

     “Did you kiss him?” Sam interjected with surprising curiosity.  “Sam!” Dean choked on the word, or something behind it, and he _was _shouting now,  voice hitting the air like a punch to close the subject. 

     “Just wondering,” Sam grumbled defensively with a slight shrug, and Crowley made a mental note to watch that one more closely.  The boys locked eyes for a moment and turned as one to stare at Bobby Singer, slunk low in his chair.  He looked back and forth between them, risking a glance at the angel who stared fixedly out the window, posture inhumanly off-kilter.  Bobby used to wonder what it would be like to feel that kind of burden on your back, day in, day out.  Past tense.

     Castiel watched a mote of dust sink slowly to the carpet.  Crowley shifted his weight.

_     “Put the shotgun down, love.” Crowley purred, gliding across the linoleum.  Probably doesn’t want to dirty his prissy-ass wingtips on my floor, Bobby thought, attempting to remain hostile in the face of demonic coercion.  It would have been a lot easier if the demon didn’t make so damn much sense.  “There’s a good boy,” Crowley smiled, and Bobby realized he had complied.  “You can’t expect me to seal the deal with a weapon in my face – at least, not that sort of weapon,” he finished with a mischievous smirk.  Bobby snorted.  He didn’t remember resetting the safety; had no idea why two shells lay cradled in his palm._

     That’s just great_, he thought.  _Keep letting him distract you like some addle-brained nitwit schoolboy, that’s the way to haggle with a demon.  He’ll have walked off with your soul _and_half the scrap yard before you know it.

_     “Down to business, then.”  The demon knelt beside his chair, no less intimidating eye to eye than looming over him like some giant, loud-mouthed crow.  “Just get it over with,” Bobby muttered, gun angled across his lap like a slender steel barrier, though against what, he couldn’t have said.  Crowley’s lips curved up in a smile Bobby could only categorize as dangerous, and his courage deserted him in a traitorous rush.  His gaze locked on the linoleum beneath his foot rest, heard the familiar pop and sizzle of an insect on a one way trip into the light.  _

_     The demon’s fingers slid lightly beneath his chin, turning his face back to regard him in the dim yellow glow.  He looked curious, Bobby thought to himself, and too calculating by half.  “You’re more afraid of this silly little thing than of losing your soul, aren’t you?”  Bobby blanched, eyes flaring with anger and something else that – Bobby told himself – in no way resembled fear.  _

_     “I ain’t afraid of you, you limp-wristed sack of shit,” he snapped, eyes narrowing as the demon’s smile grew very wide indeed.  _

_     “Then you’re a fool,” Crowley said softly as he lunged, faster than any human meatsuit should be able to move, and Bobby’s mind exploded in panic when the wheels locked beneath his hands.  The demon’s breath coursed hot and unnatural against his skin as strong fingers gripped his jaw and held him firm.  _That’s going to leave a mark_, Bobby thought as his brain threw in the towel, disconnecting from his body in shock._

_     Warm lips pressed against his with the unsettling electric hum of old, old magic.  He felt it in his bones, farther south than any feeling had traveled in nearly a year, all the way down to his fingers and toes as the spell took hold and _yanked_.  Bobby jerked forward like a fish caught on a hook, hands torn off the wheels and fumbling for a grip.  For a terrifying instant, he feared he would be rocked from the chair entirely, left to beg that smarmy cocksucker for help up from the floor – and then the world snapped back, righting itself as though it had never flown off the rails in the first place.  For the first time, he was grateful that Karen wasn’t here to bear witness, wasn’t here to judge. _

_     Wasn’t here to guess that it hadn’t been half bad.  _This is not happening, _Bobby berated himself.  Christ Almighty, he knew it had been a long time, but for the love of all that was holy, not so long as all that.  Hell, no. _

_     When Bobby opened his eyes, Crowley remained perched an infuriating inch away.  His fingers, knuckled white, had found their grip and busily pressed wrinkles into the sleeves of the demon’s fancy suit.  Crowley tilted his head like an oversized housecat, lazily regarding the vermin beneath its paw.  He wasn’t smiling anymore, not exactly._

_     Bobby kissed him again._

_     Soft at first, hesitant, it got away from him and he chased after it, red-grey stubble scraping paths across pale, unblushing flesh.  Crowley’s mouth opened to it, the only muscles working in his entire frame as he let the human dig himself in deeper.  _Lucifer in garters, _he thought, more than a little smug, _wasn’t this an interesting thing?  _Bobby pulled back to draw a short, shuddering breath and Crowley caught his lower lip in his teeth.  He wasn’t gentle; he had no cause to be.  _

_     “Careful, now,” the demon whispered, his voice a caustic sing-song.  “You’ll give yourself away if you keep going at it so –“ he drew the syllable out, licking his lips before letting the last word drop.  “Enthusiastically,” he sneered, meaning _clumsily.  Needy.

_     “You’ve already got my soul,” Bobby retorted, eyes clenched shut, swallowing hard.  “Not much else left of me, is there?”_

_     “Oh, I’ve got plenty here to work with,” Crowley leered, flashing a lopsided grin.  “Besides, that filthy little soul of yours is only on loan.”  He leaned in another inch, close enough whisper against the flush of humiliation and want spreading all the way from stubbled cheekbones to the tips of Bobby's ears. “Don’t tempt me.”          _

 

     “No!” Bobby answered at last, meaning _None of your goddammed business_, and silently begging the demon’s complicity in his lie.  Hell, lying was what those black-eyed sons of bitches did best, wasn’t it?  Sam narrowed his eyes, and Bobby knew the jig was up.  _Oh, hell.  _

     “Ahem,” Crowley coughed, producing a sleek black phone from the pocket of his equally trim suit.  He’d have had to squint to make out the image on the screen, if Sam and Dean’s faces hadn’t told him exactly what he’d see, in vivid color.  No one made a sound, and Bobby waited for it.  And waited. 

     A hint of color rose in the angel’s cheeks.  Dean tilted his head.

     “Why’d you take a picture?” Bobby asked, humiliation dancing a slow tango with his words.  _Dumbass.  Idjit.  _Demon.  What the hell did he expect?  “Why’d you have to use tongue?” the demon countered, summoning a carefully crafted sheen of disinterest and disgust.  He didn’t fool Bobby for a second, not anymore, and Bobby couldn’t blame the angel for choosing that moment to disappear.     


End file.
